on the road

and in the ridges

where rain crackles on windshields wide

the dreams of youth form wicked ideas

they are wild and numerous

and they stretch

all in a breath

from sea to shining sea


how are those golden maps

those spinning compass needles

like four corners in the hot new mexican dust


all the fusion and the willful frustrations

all the winters and their warm summer cousins

just a small, delightful sip of wonder

tinged with a taste of pine and smoke


on our beds

and out the windows

a conspiracy of whispers

that so swiftly wander

all through the light

from the deepest wood to the highest mountain top


where are they now?

those slender wristed girls

like magic on a bedroom stage


and all their curls

in their skin so porcelain

just the only thing

simply… the purest thing

that we ever really wanted


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari


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